Recurrence
by Aircalibur
Summary: [Oneshot, FE7] The pen is mightier than the sword, yet too much knowledge makes you overlook the most vital aspects of life and mistakes made in the past. Rated for safety.


My first story I've ever written, so if you have comments, I'd love to hear them. If you spot any grammar mistakes, or any parts where I could have done better; I'm still a novice writer, and not a native English speaker, so I can use any advice that I get. Well, on to the story. Please read and review.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fire Emblem

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"… _Understood? There is food and water for three days inside this bag. If I haven't returned by then, continue along this path. At the end of it, you'll be safe."_

Preparations were complete. All he needed to do was wait for his prey to enter the trap. He never imagined it would have come down to this. Even his most precious work of art would be prone to failure. He knew it.

"_Poppa?", the boy asked__ timidly, tears in his eyes, fearing that he would never see him again. His sister stayed silent, but with watering eyes like her brother. Dreading that he would never be able to leave them if he stayed any longer, the novice shaman scurried away._

The sounds of battle were drawing closer, though no cries of agony nor exclamations of terror were uttered. It was awkwardly silent, the sounds of metal clashing with metal, and magic devastating the field. He knew what it meant.

'_Darling, please be safe… I will never forgive myself when anything happens to you.'__ He hurried back home, his wife had insisted that he would bring their children to safety before herself. 'Why, why didn't I take her with me at the same time?'_

Thunder struck outside; it seems like the enemy was nearing, as a few more bolts tried to pelt the band of vagabonds, hoping to inflict severe damage upon them or causing death. He knew it would be futile.

_He was too late… His wife already lay dead, slaughtered like livestock.__ Her slayers were still in the vicinity, drinking, laughing, mad with joy that they had helped liberate the world of the atrocities that once lived in peace with them and were once regarded as equal._

And here they entered, covered with bruises, ice still dangling from their hair and clothes. His old friend, his former target, those pesky nobles who had dared oppose his plans. He wasn't familiar with the others that had entered, but it could not be their full force, he had sensed much more quintessence earlier. Their elite had entered his realm. He knew these were not insects railing against the heavens, as they had once been told.

_Anger took control of him… Darkness, slumbering inside him, awoke and invited him to go beyond the abyss. __As grief, and madness took control of him, he lost all control over its body and wanted to do nothing more, nothing less, than to kill. Only blood could sustain him, only blood could let him forget his sorrow, only the blood of the murderers… Only that._

He summoned his masterpieces, skillfully crafted shells who bore resemblance to the previous owners of their essence of life. Nothing but the looks of pure disgust on their faces pleased him, invited him to worsen it. He send his masterpieces away, starting a game of cat and mouse with the intruders. A game, which he himself had to end. He knew this.

_He had lost all emotion but one… Only hatred remained, hatred__, for those who dared destroy his life. Not only the assassins had to pay for it, but all those who came in his path, not one survived. Men, children, elderly, and ill, all had to be eliminated. He spared none, and soon, no one was left, but him._

He sensed that, one by one, his masterpieces were slain. Nothing could stop them, although some were injured when arriving in front of him. None dared to approach him, not knowing what to do when being confronted with their Nemesis, and an eerie silence fell, as the last of his puppets was impaled on a lance, which he recognized as his own creation. Backing away was something he could not do, though he knew the enemy had the strength to defeat him.

_Darkness ebbed away, content with the sacrifices it had been given, enough to nurture it for years to come. Slowly, the realization began to dawn on him as he regained his senses that he had turn into a cold blooded murderer, as corpses were strewn on the ground around him, puddles of blood forming, and his robes were soaked with the red liquid._

The ceasefire was ended when two arrows struck him simultaneously in the shoulder. While the culprit, a nomad, tried to reload, he propelled his own attack in that direction. Where once a proud nomad and his horse stood, now a pile of gray ashes lay, yet he, he had only a bloodied shoulder with arrows stuck in it. They weakened him, yet he knew it was not nearly enough to take him down.

_As the __sight of the blood was nearly making him vomit, he remembered his children. Not knowing what time it was, let alone what day, he hurried back to the ancient building where he had left them. Fearing the worst, his body accumulated speeds that were foreign to him, and encouraged him to continue, even though he was on the verge of collapsing from fatigue._

A sage next engaged him, and a column of fire struck him, but caused no serious harm. Could these fools really think they can harm me with such pitiful attacks? Enraged at the thought that his power was thought of as so little, he prepared a spell of his own. He knew he had to end this as soon as possible.

_When he arrived at the scene, he was horrified. He was t__oo late. He had hurried, ran as fast as his body would allow him, for as long as was necessary, only to see they were gone. He could still see their footsteps in the mud, and traces of the slimy brown substance in the grass, but not a sign that his children were still there._

At the same moment he tried to release the magic energy building up, a sword had given him a grave wound, cleaving one side of his body in half, and he fell to the floor. The pain was unbearable, yet there was something worse. His eyes began to water at that thought. Surely, he was not going to die here? But he knew in the back of his mind that the end had come in sight.

_An empty site. __What an ironic twist of fate; he had brought them here so he could bring safety to his family, yet it only meant that it was utterly torn apart. He could not bear this thought, yet made one vow; he would never again let his weakness be the cause of sorrow, he had to seek strength to prevent disaster in the future._

That big oaf came forward, carrying a huge axe on his shoulders, and it was to late to dodge it- not that he could have dodged it in the first place in his condition. It smashed into his spinal cord, and as his life's blood began to fall on the floor, he looked up, and saw the reaper brandishing his scythe. He knew it was the end, that it all had been for naught…

_He stood up, and left the place. In __the time span of a few days, his whole life had fallen apart, everything he had achieved vanished into smoke, fallen to ashes... All because he had lost control of himself.  
_

History tends to repeat itself. He should have known it.


End file.
